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COPYRIGHT DEPOSni 



CANTEEN CLASSICS 



Rhymes of the K. P. 



BY 



ALFRED EGGERS 




BOSTON 

THE POET LORE COMPANY 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1918, by Alfred Eggers 



All Rights Reserved 



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MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



The Gorham Press, Boston. U. S. A, 



NOV 18 1918 



©Ci.A5()f)626 



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CONTENTS 

Page 
Sammy 9 

Raw Recruits 13 

The Camel Corps 17 

The Desert 23 

The Polka Dot Brigade 27 

The Tramp ! Tramp ! Tramp 35 

Tina 39 

'Dobe Maid O' Mine 41 

Our Pay 45 



CANTEEN CLASSICS 



MUD 

It's rainin* out t'night — 

Nothin' but Mud in sight 
Hell's afloat — It's the Devil's note, 

With Mud in yuh're eye an' Mud in yer cry — 
In Mud yuh die — an' yuh wonder Why — 

Yuh're blood's blood an' not Mud. 

A Soljers a shell an' crust — 

Maybe he's made o' dust — 
But beefs his fodder — not Mud an' Water. 

His belly'U rust an' sour an' bust 
— An' if it's dust, yuh wonder, just 

Why blood's blood an' not Mud. 

We'd fight with naked souls. 

Charge through live hot coals — 
An' welcome 'em gladly — Leave 'em most sadly- 

Kiss 'em good bye! Throw 'em up high — 
Lay down an* die — Then we'd know why 

— Blood's blood an' not Mud. 



Canteen Classics 



SAMMY 

Yuh're crabbin* on double time, 

Bucklin' the flank an* file, 
Dodgin' the ooze an* slime, 
Draggin' the column a mile — 
When it's blouses an' belts an' bay-o-nets 
For Dress Parade — Yuh're stallin' sets 
Yuh up — sublime. 

It's gen'rals yuh are — maybe, 

Buckles an' bars an' stripes — 
Hell! Wait'll the enemy's 
Drillin* yer yellah tripes. 
When yuh're struttin' an' cuttin' — an' worse than 

that — 
You'll get no drag on the size O' yer hat — 
Yuh Gutter Snipes. 

But Brother o' mine 'over there'. 

Here's my hand on it. 
I'm Sammy-the-Devil-may-care — 
Champin' a rusty bit. 
A holdin' dead fast tuh yer strong hand clasp — 
Swearin' from now 'till yuh hear me gasp 
To do my bit. 



Rhymes of the K. P. 



The soljer'n was not in my game — 
— Killin' the weak's no creed — 
But in the Just God's Name 
Whose afraid to bleed? 
The blood o' great men'U not dry on my feet, 
Order the Charge Sir — Blow no Retreat — 
There'll be no need. 

Yuh're catchin' the quick-step stride, 

Red's shot into yer eye — 
Fight's a eatin' yer hide, 

Rushin' to say 'Good-Bye' — 
When yuh're ordered out — an' go Over the Top- 
Hold Up! Don't Drop! There's a place to stop- 
On the other side. 



II 



Canteen Classics 



RAW RECRUITS 

I've lathered thfm mornin' an' night, 
A given' thim squads left an' right — 

They be knowin' as mules — 
— Such a Dam lot o' fools — 
But they'll fight. 

The most o' thim's Bow'ry New Yorks — 
As healthy an' sthrappin' as storks — 

They'll get haythinly dthrunk 
Most undacently dthrunk — 
Thin they'll fight. 

Of the rest — they're a mongrel crew — 
Scientifics — an' what not — an' jew — 

Wid a crazy quilt patter — 
They march — such a clatter — 
Can they fight? 

I'd as leaf trust the wild cats as thim — 

They're that hungry and cautious an' slim- 
Whin me back's to the lot — 
Thim eyes run me hot — 
Can they Fight! 



13 



Rhymes of the K. P. 



Sez the Cap'n to me whin they came, 

'They're a gang that's oncommonly tame'- 

But the tail av his eye 

Give his statement the lie — 
'They Can Fight' 

I say't without shamin' the mules — 
Give me thim in preference to fools, 

For me tongue's raw an' sore 
Wid the way I 'ave swore 
At thim jewels. 



15 



Canteen Classics 



THE CAMEL CORPS 

D'yuh call to mind the day — Johnny Boy — 

Whin the canteen held a pint or more o' Joy 
Whin we thought no more o' water, thin we did o 
Pharaoh's daughter 
But that day is gone ferever — Johnny Boy — 
D'yuh hear that gurglin' growlin' kind o' 

snore — 
He's a dreamin' o' the canteen, that's no more, 
He's arguin' an' prayin', but yuh can't tell 

what he's sayin' 
The're a takin' him to jine the Camel Corps. 

Sterile water fer the thirst — Johnny Boy 

Yuh're a schooner full o' germs, Ship Ahoy! 
Whin Yuh're reg-lar in yer diet — yuh never durst 
to try it 
Wid foamin' tanks o' beer — Johnny Boy. 

It's yer health they're fer protectin' from the 

germs 
An' the Medic Corps is offerin' no terms, 
Oncondishinul surrender, sez our bloody bold 

defender 
To the Camel Corp — But how me gullet burns. 



17 



Rhymes of the K. P. 



I've sinked the stalest schooner ever shipped, 

An' I've never had me pig digestion tripped, 
But this biled an' filtered water, makes me stomik 
take a flopper 
Like no soft an' clamy thing I ever gripped. 
Oh me eye, it's o' me health an' nothin' more 
Good men throwin' 'way their lives — an' by 

the score. 
But I know their tinder passions, fer a dryin' 

up me rations 
An' enlisten' o' me in the Camel Corps. 

It's the germs we're fightin' now — Johnny Boy — 
Half a million more 'n 'or less — as they deploy 
Through our weakened constitushion, where they 

start a revolution 
Wid a profilactiz gun we mus' deestroy — 

An' a pint o' beer would do it an' no more. 
An' the pleasure of it — makes me gullet sore. 
But they've made us gentle sodjers, wid no 

wulgar wet exposures 
We're a marchin' wid a dirty Camel Corps. 



19 



Canteen Classics 



I'm drunk t'nlght an' bold — Johnny Boy — 

Fer I run agin a beer-besot decoy — 

An' somehow he knowed t'was pay-day, an' sez he 

are yez a laydy 
Fer to look at — Would yuh be a china toy? 
An' me anger riz up hot an' so'd me gore, 
Take a holt me b'y, sez I — Strike from the 

shore ! 
An' I filled his eye wid beer foam, 'till he 

couldn't find his way home — 
I'm a sodjer of a dirty Camel Corps. 



Zl 



Rhymes of the K. P. 



THE DESERT 

Down by the stream, 'neath shading palm, 

Bold in it's brave array, 

Rank and Column of courageous, calm. 

Light Soldiery, marched away. 

And they sang their songs of victories won. 

And prophesied more, when this march was done. 

Straight through the molten morning sun — 

Straight in the eye, it gazed. 

Spreading its great dead wings of dun, 

Over the might man raised. 

And they bristled with banter and jest and joke, 
— Holding at nought, its fire-wmd cloak. 

Clear, the mirage of success lured on. 

Tempting their love of fame — 

Feeding their lips and their limbs, now dun 

And dry as the desert flame. 

But their jest was chilled in the desert night 
And its image was black, in the morning light. 



23 



Canleen Classics 



Time is the desert's friend and foe — 

Slow, its idle embrace, 

Taking its toll, in drop by drop flow — 

Holding a snail's pace, 

But they crowded the desert — as on they flew, 
Counting it little, they never came through. 

Wide is its withering waste at noon — 

Snuffed is the light of man — 

Spectre like host in the pale of the moon, 

Sinking beneath its span. 

And its pity of man is as light as his jest 
As it tears his shroud from his funeral rest. 



25 



Rhymes of the K. P. 



THE POLKA DOT BRIGADE 

From the old adobe block-house, to our bat'ries on 

the coast, 
We lay, a steamin*, svvearin,' tobacker starvin' ghost. 
The Spaniard's diggin' trenches — a yellah streak o' 
shame — 
An' the Big Chief in his blankets, with our horse 
bat'ries gone lame 
Then we straggled up the trail, a howlin', hag- 

glin', mass — 
'Till their Mauser's messed the front rank, an' 

cut us down like grass 
The finest of his regiment were fallin' round 

him, dead — 
His fat'll simmer down below — for goin' off his 
head. 

An' the wavin' grass was clingin' like a burnin' 

blanket-roll, 
To shed the devil's bullets, in the hellish seethin' 

hole; 
But a shamble's what we found it, for we couldn't 

pump a shell, 
With the order 'Wait for Orders', just a ridin' us 

to Hell. 

27 



Canteen Classics 



The trail was dammed with dyin' and the bul- 
lets overhead 

Were comin' thick, an' shriekin', like a flyin' 
roof o' lead. 

The sun — a burnin' ball o' flame was layin' on 
our backs — 

An' we a squirmin' den o' snakes — a throwin' 
off our packs. 

— The thirst was makin' devils of that haughty hu- 
man host, 
Their tongues swelled black agin their teeth — for 

stayin' at their post 
"What Orders Sir?" "Shall we Advance?" On 

every hand the cry. 
But all they got's an answer shriekin' overhead — 
"To Die" 
The regimental officers a cursin' the delay 
With no retreat — an' death in front — "Who 

wants to lead the way?" 
Where under God Almighty's Sun — was such 

a sight as this? 
A Yankee — layin' down his arms to give defeat 
a kiss. 



29 



Rhymes of the K. P. 



With the bullets comin' thicker an' we dyin' in a 

hole — 
The block-house stuck upon the hill, a grinnin' 

tauntin', goal — 
A Shout went up — from every side, "Who's that?" 

The livin' prayed. 
"Advance! Advance! We'll follow yuh — The 
Polka Dot Brigade!" 
A Stragglin', staggerin,' reelin,' mob, broke 

from the w^oods and charged 
A hail of shot and shrapnel, without a piece 

discharged. 
Each man a fightin' for a cause, more sacred 

than his blood, 
An' laughin' at the enemy, in whose death trap 
he stood. 

"Hold — Its Murder! Howlin' Murder, to charge 

a trench that way!" 
— The Cowboy cheers rang in our ears — "To win 

or lose the day!" 
The Black Bridgade no longer stayed, to scour with 

the dead. 
On every hand a little band, or one his lone game 

played. 



31 



Canteen Classics 



They marked no time—without a line—up 
San Juan Hill 

—Their achin' limbs and bulgin' eyes, a breath- 

in' courage still — 
To wipe the sting of shame, that cut a deeper 

wound than lead 
And turn the page o' sour defeat, to one that 

could be read. 

An' up that heavin' half-mile hill, more dyin' than 
were left, 

A totterin' mob— a cursin* job— an' of its head be- 
reft 

Charged on, in blind courageous strength, to where 

the Spaniard lay — 
And feebly cheered the colors— smeared— but they 

had won the day. 

We're laggin' an' a braggin' o' that hollow 
vict'ry still 

But no "Army Code o' Morals" lead that 

charge up San Juan Hill 
To cattle rangers, clubmen, clerks, an' rust- 
lers on a raid — 

The vict'ry goes — The whole world knows— 
The Polka Dot Brigade 



Z3 



Rhymes of the K. P. 



THE TRAMP! TRAMP! TRAMP! 

When yuh hear the ''Call to Colors" 

Clip the frosty mornin' breeze, 
An' the clickin' o' yer molars 

Starts yuh shakin' at the knees — 
— Yuh 're passin' raw remarks — 
— "Dam — That windjammer barks" — 
But the Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! 
Pulls yer chin up with a clamp. 

Where's the joy in starin' Mud-Mad 

Through a screen o' stinkin' sweat — 
Cringin' cryin' like yer soul had 

Soaked in brine that's bitter wet. 
— Yer liver's white as death — 
— Somethin's catchin' at yer breath — 
When the Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! 
Pulls yer chin up with a clamp. 

Live barbed wire's just catchin' tendrils, 
Burstin' Shrapnel's Squirrel Shot 

When aroun' yuh blazin' blood spills 
An's a leapin' out Red Hot. 

— A knifin Snaky Sting — 

— They've got yuh — Dam the thing — 

35 



Canteen Classics 



When the Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! 
Pulls yer chin up with a clamp. 

Burnin' blood don't quench the achin' 
Gripin' thirst that's at yer throat; 

Nor'll forked lightnin' rakin' 

Through yer brain, make Hell remote. 

—A Writhin' Wrigglin' Clod— 

— In Death he's cursin' God — 

'Till a — Tramp — Tramp — Tramp — 

Pulls his chin up with a clamp. 



37 



Rhymes of the K. P. 



TINA 

Twice she tried to run me through, 
Screamin' wild — the blade she threw ; 
Hissin' like a snake — and blue. 
Greeneyed Tina; Wigglin* Tina; 
With a blazin' belt, between a 
Fizzy head and twinklin' toes. 

Crouchin' with a feline glint, 
Emerald sparks of changin' tint 
Leapin' from her eyes like flint. 
Sneakin' Tina; Squirmin' Tina; 
Tender, lovin', she-hyena — 
Teeth — two shinin' iv'ry rows. 

Hold your devil dyed desire. 

You're a fiend with head afire; 

Nerves a quiverin' like a wire. 
Purrin' Tina; Playin' Tina; 
Actin' like you'd always been a 
Cherub with a stubby nose. 



39 



Canteen Classics 



'DOBE MAID O' MINE 

Cactus tempered 'dobe maid — 'dobe maid o' mine; 
Laughing 'cross the Rio Grand — Rio Grand and 
thine ; 
Dancing eyes and curh'ng lashes, 
Trembling tears in diamond dashes; 
Smiling, sugared, crimson lips, 
Kisses — humming-bird — like tifs — 
Living to your finger tips, 
'Dobe Maid O' Mine. 

Hundred-hearted 'dobe maid — 'dobe maid o' mine; 
Bonded to no close conventions — Dancing on, be- 
nign ; 
Raven crowned, unpunished glances 
Stealing through me — swift entrances; 
Heart of fickle fabric spun. 
Love! Oh Love! You are but one 
Flaming high and dying; Done; 
'Dobe Maid O' Mine. 

Daughter of the Sun and Stars — 'dobe maid o' mine ; 
Guided by the sage and palms — never to repine; 

Thoughtless of a soldier's rations. 

Satisfied with fleeting passions, 

41 



Rhymes of the K. P. 



Flaming bird of paradise — 
Why would you be otherwise? 
Knowing — How could I despise? 
'Dobe Maid O' Mine. 

Careless of a nation's wrath — 'dobe maid o' mine; 
Treading each and every path, even 'cross the line; 
Tossing lightly waging forces, 
Like your tambourine discourses; 
Eagle of the mountain pass. 
Courage — none can you surpass, 
Tattered, proud, impulsive lass, 
'Dobe Maid O' Mine. 

Olive-throated 'dobe maid — 'dobe maid o' mine; 
No green ivy tendril stings, 'round your heart en- 
twine ; 
Little as you have to offer 
Of fine gold — and still you proffer 
Yellow buds, in bleeding hands — 
Nourished by the desert sands — 
Cactus blooms — Who understands ? 
'Dobe Maid O' Mine. 



43 



Canteen Classics 



OUR PAY 

It's not for the Gold that we get, 

Much less for Goals we've set — 

But for satisfied pride that we've turned aside — 

That we've laughed at — and learned to forget. 

The Duty — The Cause and the Strife 

Hold high our hopes, hung rife. 

But The God On High, rests His hand when we die 

On the best we have loved in life. 

The Toil that has trodden and torn, 

Brings Riches, unmarred, unworn; 

For the comrade who died, whom we watched bc' 

side. 
Has blessed us — and left us to mourn. 



45 



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